Of Broken Angels and Fallen Demons
by Last Ride Of The Valkyries
Summary: Something ancient is stirring on Kashyyyk. And the Republic is helpless to stop it. Luckily, men accustomed to fighting such things, fighting them on ring worlds known as Halos, are on their way. But help is not always appreciated . . .
1. Primaeval

**A/N: Well, I'm back. I won't give a lame timeline, so just understand that this occurs after the events of Halo but before the Phantom Menace, so during the Old Republic and Neo-Ecumene (the unified Halo government). If you want an actual list of events, let me know and I'll put stuff up. Just know that no major leaps in technology have occurred (except where noted).**

**Also, I've not read much Star Wars EU, so I'll be abusing Wookiepedia, so please correct me on mistakes, especially relevant to speeds. I don't have the time to analyse everything to come up with figures for speeds for hyperdrives, so I don't even own the number crunching for speeds (although other math is all my own unless noted, excepting base equations, which belong to people like Archimedes).**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Star Wars franchise, the Halo franchise, or Rigel 3. And if I had to choose, I'd choose Rigel 3.**

* * *

Primaeval

* * *

Deep in the Forests of Kashyyyk

Shyykkibem couldn't say what had compelled him to visit the Shadowlands, only that it had its origins in the Force. He'd been a Jedi long enough to know better than to ignore the prickling dread that had been clouding his senses for the past months. Others had felt it too, otherwise Shyykkibem's request to visit would have been denied.

Shyykkibem had never been to the Shadowlands before, having instead been tested by his Jedi Trials. But this visit hade made him even more aware of his species' skill. All went through the Hrrtayyk down here on the forest floor, and Shyykibem was unsure of his own survival, trained and armed with a lightsaber though he was. Normally, he would have added the Force to his repertoire, but here it was clouded and unfriendly. Not dark. More . . . wet, damp; oppressed and moldy.

As if reflecting Shyykkibem's thoughts, a howl and blur of motion caught his attention. Shyykkibem raised his lightsaber, barely in time. The decapitated arm fell to the ground and the Minstyngar howled again, this time in pain.

The Force hadn't even given Shyykkibem an inkling of warning. Luckily, he didn't need the Force to know what came next. By the green glow of his lightsaber, Shyykkibem could see the forms of four more Minstyngar. The Wookiee adopted a defencive position and got ready to fend off the beasts.

One Minstyngar was coiling its muscles, ready to spring, but Shyykkibem didn't dare relax and give into the Force for this figh. That would only dull the Wookiee's senses, sluggish and overgrown as this Force was.

It came as a massive surprise, then, when the Minstyngar blocking the way forward turned away from Shyykkibem, focusing instead on something behind it. The other Minstyngar shuffled and turned their heads in the same direction. Shyykkibem strained his ears, and caught the tail end of a wet gurgle. At that, the Minstyngar turned back around and bounded away as quickly as possible, ignoring the massive Wookiee with a lightsaber in their path. Shyykkibem was confused. Sure, the gurgle had sounded slightly ominous, but certainly not terrifying enough to cause a pack of deadly Minstyngar to turn tail and flee.

Shyykkibem wasn't about to turn down a gift from the Force, though. He pressed on, wary of whatever had spooked the Minstyngar. The trees grew thicker and the darkness more pressing, but that was all. Nothing leapt out. Nothing moved at all. Everything was still, even the dank, stifling air. Perhaps that was why it smelled so bad. Something had rotted and the stink hadn't yet been cleared by a wind.

However, the smell wasn't exactly rotting. It was something . . . deadlier. The stench stirred up memories of things undone. Dark things: the breath of a vampyre; the feel of flesh giving way to rot; drinking a chalice of blood sanctified by devil-priests. Worst of all: the scent of death. Not blood or rot. The pure, unadulterated and absolute terror which exists only in the moment of death and only to the dead.

Still, the Force gestured ever on through the murk. Shyykkibem walked forward, following the bobbing light of the Force. Though it was hard to see in the darkness, Shyykkibem thought he could detect strange mosses growing on the trees. Brown with sickly green, the moss seemed to cover the entire face of the tree, swarming up and down the bark as though it had grown on it for centuries. But this moss was new, Shyykkibem was certain. Whatever the moss was, it was certainly slightly unnatural. And to add to Shyykkibem's unease, the gentle, almost silent padding of his feet along the forest floor changed, growing squishy, as though the skin of the planet he was walking over had suddenly become alive.

Looking down, Shyykkibem saw more of what he had thought was moss. It wasn't moss. More scab-like, the growth felt almost like flesh. Not proper baked flesh or scaled flesh or furred flesh or even the supple, uncovered flesh of some species. This was necrotic flesh, and of a ghastly hue. Still, it pulsed ever-so-gently, as though in tune to a massive, dormant heart residing somewhere deep within the planet. It could almost be called the oldest of places, with the wild, untamed, and ancient feel that already permeated the floor of Kashyyyk. This was where life had first sprung into being, in its primal, deadly archetypes that would eventually reconfigure themselves to noble shapes ready to join their voices to the heavenly chorus of the waltz among stars. Mostly satisfied with his explanation for the unnatural feeling (for it really was just ancient), Shyykkibem walked on, following the beckoning of the Force. It would not lead him astray, no matter his slight unease, for the Force was good, a beacon for all.

* * *

It wasn't until nearly a kilometre later, a kilometre without attacks of any kind, that Shyykkibem could understand the unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach. The skin of the world had no existence in the Force. Surely, it would be teeming with the Living Force, given shape and form by the Unifying Force. So why could Shyykkibem sense nothing from this place that was closer to the origin of life and the Force than anything Shyykkibem had encountered before? Shyykkibem didn't know, which was no help. The only thing that he could sense was the trail of the Force leading him ever on, like a lantern through the night.

The analogy was what did it. Shyykkibem thought back to some of his readings, to the púca with their will-o'-the-wisps, and to the sirens with their murderous voices. This Force beckoning was a lure. And Shyykkibem had taken it. Pulling out his lightsaber, Shyykkibem whirled around, trying to reorient himself out of the trap.

The way Shyykkibem had come was blocked. There was no exit.

The skin of the world had risen up, surrounding Shyykkibem on three sides. The skin was pulsing quickly, as though agitated. Shyykkibem flicked on his lightsaber and jammed it at the wall, planning on cutting a hole. The good news was that the wall wasn't like cortosis. The green blade plunged right through the wall and Shyykkibem began trying to cut through. And then a roar of pain reverberated from everywhere all at once, shaking the living walls. Shyykkibem roared back, challenging the very world, and continued to cut.

At least, until Shyykkibem felt something brushing along his leg. Looking down, he saw a tentacle of the same colour as the wall snaking past his left leg. It felt like . . . a child. Curious, but harmless. Shyykkibem guessed that the mother was not. Anything that could obfuscate the Force, and then lure a Jedi . . .

Careful not to startle the tentacle and whatever was attached to it, Shyykkibem withdrew his lightsaber and killed the blade, slowly attaching it to his belt. Immediately, the tentacle tensed, and Shyykkibem held his breath, not wanting to startle it. After a moment, the tentacle relaxed, and Shyykkibem let out the breath he'd been holding.

As if responding to the decreasing tension, the tentacle moved, wrapping around Shyykkibem's leg with lightning precision. It squeezed, far tighter than anything the Wookiee had ever felt before. He tried drawing his lightsaber, but the tentacle suddenly squeezed so tightly that Shyykkibem could concentrate only on the pain.

Even after Shyykkibem had lost the ability to hold his unlit hilt, the vice continued to tighten. Shyykkibem heard a _crack_, but the pain in his leg was too great; Shyykkibem felt no bones breaking. He forced himself to look, and saw a jagged white spike sticking out of his leg, just above the tentacle. Red blood matted his fur.

Desperately trying to use the Force to put his bone back in place, Shyykkibem shut his eyes and concentrated, albeit to no avail. The only sign of the Force, the tremor that had lured him, was gone. Before Shyykkibem could try to extend his senses past the edge of this trap, he felt a tugging, and opened his eyes in time to see a second tentacle whistling through the air at his face.

Shyykkibem felt a sharp impact, and then nothing.

* * *

Gravity felt weird, shifting around, back and forth. There was no sound. Sniffing, Shyykkibem smelled the sharp and unnatural-yet terribly familiar-scent of death. Shyykkibem stretched out with his mind. The Force did not exist.

Slowly cracking one eye open, Shyykkibem tried to figure out where he was. There was no bright light staring him in the face, but it wasn't impossibly dark, either. Shyykkibem opened his other eye, but could only see the slow drifting of dark green dust particulates that seemed to permeate everything. Any movement beyond that veil was hidden.

Desperate to see what was going on, Shyykkibem struggled, trying to get free of whatever was holding him. A low grumble echoed as if in response, and the green dust began to clear, allowing some small measure of light to be cast. In the light, Shyykkibem was able to determine that the tentacles from before were responsible for his imprisonment. Two secured his wrists from above, leaving him dangling. The whim of a third tentacle wrapped around his waist was resposible for the shifting of gravity. Shyykkibem was just glad that his legs, especially his broken one, were free.

The dust continued to clear in front of Shyykkibem, although not to either side. At last, he could make out a dark blob. Misshapen, it was little more than a glob of skin, somehow even uglier than a Hutt. And then there was horrible wet gurgle, several times worse than the sound that had scared off the Minstyngar. Shyykkibem watched, horribly fascinated as the blob stretched, moulding itself into something like a primeval plant. The base was still a horrible lump, but the lump was now bubbling, taking on form and quickly settling back into nothingness. Shyykkibem could have sworn that the forms taken for the briefest of instants were the faces of things ineffably powerful, things that could cross galaxies with little more than a thought. Things that had been _consumed_ by this monstrosity older even than they.

And the _consumer _was growing a face of its own, extending a neck toward Shyykkibem. The thing had a mouth like a lamprey, round and filled with innumerable teeth that were little more than red spikes, all pointed toward the centre. Shyykkibem thought the colouring was natural, but got the feeling that even if the had had been pearly white at the start of the beast's life, they would still be red, stained by the unceasing fountain of blood it drank.

The "head" of the monster stopped a few metres from Shyykkibem, inspecting him. After several moments, two small spheres of biomass fell away, dropping right out of the creature. Dribbles of green dripped out of the two holes, staining the thing's face. After a moment, the two holes were filled with dark red "eyes". Dull, they somehow managed to reflect light anyway, revealing their compound nature. They were the eyes of a fly.

The eyes continued to inspect Shyykkibem for some moments. Then there was another low rumbling, this time from the "face" and also all along where the tentacles brushed up against Shyykkibem's fur. The thrum settled into a particular pitch and began matching the vibrations of words that begsn worming their way through Shyykkibem's ear canals. The words were etching themselves into Shyykkibem's skin even as the infinite multitude of whispers asked, "What have we here?" in perfect Shyriiwook.

Shyykkibem growled back unintelligibly, somehow more angry at the beast's use of language than at his own capture.

The monster seemed to understand anyway, responding in Basic, this time with words punctuated in the Force. "A Jedi. And so the circle comes at last to a close, for I have consumed sovereigns and peasants, Sith and Padawans. Now join your voice with ours in the heavenly chorus, and we shall sing victory everlasting as we waltz among stars."

Shyykkibem paled, even if it was unnoticeable through his fur. This time, his angry speech resolved itself into words. "Why are you here, monster?" It was supposed to sound far calmer, with just a hint of threat, as opposed to the fearful tremor that shook his words.

The beast gave answer by vibrating in Shyriiwook, speaking in Basic, and Force-communing in a language Shyykkibem did not know, but understood nevertheless. "Long have I watched, staring through the broken mirror. At last I am decided, though at first I was unsure. This galaxy is infected, and I, I am its cure. Will you sleep entombed with willing ease, or must force persuade?"

Shyykkibem growled his response. "I am a Jedi, as you so astutely noticed. I am a guardian of peace and justice, and I shall never help the likes of you!"

The thing merely hummed. After a moment, Shyykkibem felt something land on his shoulder. Glancing to the side, Shyykkibem saw a many-legged sac. Even through his robes, the pod felt inherently $wrong$. If was too light, for one. And the antennae, so like fungal growths. Its legs were an insect's and its body belonged to a sloth. It was an abomination, and it was crawling on his skin $through$ his robes. The Force would not help Shyykkibem rid himself of the draugr as it climbed along his shoulder, positioning itself on his neck. Refusing to surrender, Shyykkibem tilted his head back, preparing to squash the creature with his chin. Before he could even start to swing his head down, though, another tentacle wrapped itself around his head and held it back.

Shyykkibem felt a spike of pain as the tiny devil rammed a stinger through his throat and into his spinal nervous system. Then, the thing spoke, answering Shyykkibem's earlier boast. "You already have." It then switched to its language, but Shyykkibem, or what was left of him, understood without translation required. "After all, we are the same.

"_There is no emotion, there is the Flood.  
There is no ignorance, there is the Flood.  
There is no passion, there is the Flood.  
There is no chaos, there is the Flood.  
There is no death, there is the Flood_."

And then, Shyykkibem felt his own voice becoming corrupted. There was no instantaneous transfer of allegiance. He could feel his very self, his identity, being stripped away, until he could become part of perfection, a cog working for the betterment of all, even those who had yet to see the beauty that was the Flood. The thing that had once been Shyykkibem spoke. "We are the Flood. And we shall bring peace and justice to the galaxy."

The combat form felt the tentacles-that-were-born-of-everything release, and it landed on the soft-yet-firm ground. It shambled off, going to retrieve a fallen warrior's lightsaber so that the technology could be used for the greater good.

* * *

**A/N: The Jedi Code translates into Flood a little too well, don't you think?**

**Don't worry. I have this all planned out, and it isn't just going to be Flood vs. Star Wars, interesting as that could become. It make take a few chapters for that, though, because unlike Halo: 5 or Fireteam Nebula, I won't be posting long(er) chapters, and if I lose interest or don't get positive feedback this could well be put on a very long hiatus.**

**Meanwhile, here's a Question of the Chapter to determine who the next chapter gets dedicated to.**

_What language did the Forerunners speak?_

**Oh, and happy non-denominational winter (or summer, if you live in the southern hemisphere) holiday!**


	2. Council

**A/N: This chapter is dedicated to General Rommel because he (she? it?) doubly correctly answered my question, giving me a perfect segue to a bit of background. He (she? it?) answered that the Forerunners spoke both Digon and Jagon. The unified Halo government officially speaks Digon (although my writing is "translated" to English for your convenience) because it has unbiased origins (and because Forerunner meddling allows all species to speak it). Anyway, enjoy.**

**Also, Basic is not English.**

* * *

Council

* * *

An Undisclosed Location in a Galaxy Far Far Away

"Thank you for coming today, everyone." The dark haired scientist stood, towering over the most powerful people in the known galaxy. They sat in plush chairs around a heavy wooden table, the only piece of furniture in the room. Fairly stark, the entire room was surrounded in a Faraday cage, much to Dr. Gregory Zimmermann's annoyance. It meant that he couldn't just stream the data from his lab. No, that would be too easy. And god forbid that bureaucracy be easy. He'd had to compress and download all the disparate data from the seven computers in his lab to a single jump drive, and then file to be able to bring the drive aboard, even though he'd already been cleared (requested, actually) to come and talk to the aristocrats.

Zimmermann tried to ignore his irritation, and continued speaking. "I've asked you all here today because of some data we received from unmanned deep space probe VXC-09572. For those of you that don't know, that particular probe was part of the HK Initiative fifteen years ago. We're actually hearing from it sooner than we'd expected."

One of the women near the head of the table tightened the muscles around her mandibles, a sure sign of agitation. She paused a moment before speaking, giving peers a chance to speak before she did. After a moment, she spoke, her raspy voice much deeper than Zimmermann could ever hope for. "I'm sorry, but the HK Initiative was before my time. Would you please refresh my memory?"

Before Zimmermann could say anything, another voice cut in. "While I don't remember it, I do have access to the files." All heads turned to look at the holographic form of the Chairman for Artificial Rights. Once all eyes were on his avatar, Dante continued. "The Hunter-Killer, or HK, Initiative was a preemptive measure against further Flood invasion. That the scientists have come to us can only mean one thing: the HK probes have detected something."

Lord of Admirals Lahv Lel noted with some satisfaction that the rest of the cabinet took the news surprisingly well. They didn't break out in chaos or start screaming their heads off. Sure, the Minister of Finance-a Kig Yar like himself-flinched fairly visibly, but that was all. Before the situation got too out of hand, though, Dante chuckled and said, "The probes were launched at other galaxies, since the Flood is believed to be extragalactic." Lahv Lel's job was to know that kind of thing, obscure though the program had been, so he was one of the few who didn't breathe a sigh of relief.

Prime Minister Samantha Vasquez was one of the others who had taken the news well. "Well, Doctor Zimmermann, which galaxy is our probe in?"

Zimmermann pulled out a hand-held clicker and turned the self-contained projector on. As the system booted up and accessed the data from his jump drive, the good doctor pulled out a laser pointer. Once the data were on the screen, Zimmermann began his lecture. "Probe VXC-09572 is in Extragalactic Object 34, also known as M81, or, colloquially, Bode's Galaxy. At eleven point eight million light years away, even the best slipspace drives take about fourteen years to get there. The interesting part is that the probe sent back its internal clock time with the data packet." Zimmermann used his laser pointer to identify a clock showing 126,705 hours, 39 minutes, and 12.91 seconds. "Slipspace cancels out dilatory effects predicted by special relativity, so that means we're getting the data a year later. The lab assistants are all giddy, because we've never had a slipspace communications delay because of distance. This absolutely trashes a few theories-"

"And means we can't communicate with a quarantine squad," Lahv Lel interrupted. "We'll need at least a quorum of admirals along to make decisions."

"That much power in one place is dangerous," Head of Public Relations Bolyo said before clarifying, "The populace might suspect a coup."

Lel would have said something if not for P.M. Vasquez's timely interruption. "Not as dangerous as the Flood, my dear Unggoy." She turned to Lahv Lel and asked, "We can't spare you because Bolyo is correct about appearances, but could we send a quorum?"

Lahv didn't need too long too think before he said, "Well, Doisac is quiet, after that last pack war, and intel says that the Jiralhanae are still a ways from rediscovering slipspace. Minister of Finance Nev is reworking trade relations with our brothers in the Kig Yar Alliance of Free Systems, so piracy will hopefully decrease. And although tensions with the Bundesrepublik Auslich Welten are more bellicose than we'd like, war seems pretty far off. I think we could deploy a quarantine fleet."

"And the admirals to accompany the expedition?" Deputy Prime Minister Olsee 'Daima asked. Noticing Dr. Zimmermann standing around uncomfortably, she looked to Vasquez before saying, "Oh, and Doctor, thank you. You're dismissed."

Lahv Lel watched the man scurry away before answering the Sangheili's question. "I know just the three to balance aggression, passivity, and public relations. Up-and-coming Iria 'Losona, wary old Bapyam, and Issac Janson, since he's so amicable."

And the discussion continued well into the night.

* * *

**A/N: An intro into basic Halo-verse life, as well as why they go to a galaxy far far away.**

**Question of the chapter: **_What is the name of Captain Needa's ship?_


	3. Terminus

**A/N: I'm back! This chapter dedicated to paladin3030 for letting me know that Needa captained the Avenger.**

**Here are some quick tech specs. If you want the detail between everything, PM me, but keep in mind the fact that SW movies outweigh the books, and if the books disagree, the fact is ignored. Here're the important, non-plot point tech.**

**Bullets/MAC: shatter bone, rend flesh, low(ish) Halo shield damage, ignore SW shields  
Plasma: massive burns, moderate Halo shield damage, half-ignores SW shields, low SW shield damage  
Blasters: small, medium-sized burns, moderate-high Halo shield damage, moderate SW shield damage  
Hard Light: dissolves bodies, f**ks Halo shields, massive SW shield damage, cannot be replicated without Huragok (Engineers), who need lots of expensive resources to manufacture  
Death Star Superlaser: magitk =/= normal blaster  
Halo armour: shields standard in most armour, hard ceramics protect against kinetic impact, designed to reflect heat (including blasters and plasma, if not perfectly)  
SW armour: looks cool**

**I tried to be fair, but also logical. I mean, give me one example of Star Wars armour (aside from Darth Vader's or Boba Fett's) actually saving someone's life, and I'll go home and rethink my life. I mean, why else would Jedi not wear armour while on missions ****_during a war_****?**

* * *

Terminus

* * *

Beyond

The depths of space are not cold. Not when galaxies dance and drift gently through nothing. Still, the awesome maw of space is unrelenting in its inhospitality, ignoring convention and flouting the sense suggested by those who eke out a living amongst the stars. In and among those stars, the infinite probabilities of the Universe calculate and recombine into a plethora of possibility. Some are no more than mindless drivel, mere burps in the continuity of space-time.

Others, though, are responsible for the truth behind every epic and song. In the space between a verdant forest planet and its sun, one such possibility bloomed into probability and flowered as certainty. A crackling nexus broke the plane of nothingness, filling it instead with a singularity from which Two hundred ships of varying designs and colours emerged, transitioning into realspace.

The galaxy insurmountably changed. Whether for the better remains to be seen.

* * *

Aboard Fenrir-Class Quarantine Vessel _Manumitting God_

The stillness of the air outside the cryochamber had remained unbroken for the last twelve years. That was, of course, an estimation using Earth-centric time, but the computer counting away the time had been programmed no differently. There was no need. Its only purpose was to activate the thaw cycle on the cryotubes, just as identical programs in similar locations aboard the other ships in the fleet would soon do. True A.I. would be created to replace the program, now that the fleet was past the twelve years of dull nothing which would have driven any entity insane.

Of course, the program wasn't insane. It couldn't be insane. It didn't even know what insanity was. It merely counted down the time before thaw and the subsequent activation of an A.I. to replace it. The program wasn't jealous. It couldn't be jealous. It didn't even know what jealousy was.

The computer just counted. It didn't eagerly anticipate the zero that swiftly approached. It didn't care. And when the timer reached zero, the computer didn't spend a quick moment savouring the completion of its task. The computer program simply thawed cryotubes, staring with the Admiral's.

A hiss, and a pair of pneumatic cylinders began lifting the frosted glass front of a cryotube. A diminutive figure fell out, coughing violently. After a moment, it stood up and stretched, popping joints before shuffling over to put on clothes. Bapyam supposed that he could have left his garments on since the last time he'd been put in cryo, but he didn't want to suffer more freezer burn than happened over the course of seven months. _Oh well, _he thought, _at least those routine checks kept us from anything worse_.

Once he'd finished putting on his Admiral's stars, Bapyam drew himself to his full height, still shorter than the few Kig Yar who'd joined the neo-Ecumene. Walking over to the control panel, lowered in this room for ease of use, Bapyam punched in his personal security code and began the process of waking up the whole ship. As was happening in all the other cryobays aboard _Manumitting God,_ the machinery clanked to life and thuds could be heard as soldiers dropped out of their respective cryotubes. Bapyam waited a minute before barking orders over the intercom. "All at station in fifteen minutes for realspace transition. We're dropping blind, so I want shields up and combatants ready." Bapyam turned to watch the other Unggoy in his cryobay moving swiftly to respond, throwing on methane helmets and packs and grabbing weapons with crisp, military precision. Bapyam had always liked the exactness about military, even if most of his brethren saw little purpose in war. At least he was taller than most Unggoy.

Bapyam took a moment alone before swiftly removing his own methane helmet from the wall and putting it on. Bapyam picked up a methane pack from the rack and slung it over his back, hooking the supply hose to the back of his mask. Tasting the slightly stale recycled air, he headed out of the methane-filled cryobay. After a moment in the airlock, Bapyam walked into the oxygen-rich main ship and jogged to the bridge tram. It wouldn't do to be late, considering it was his party.

Four and a half minutes later, Bapyam found himself walking into the nerve centre of his ship, embedded as it was in the middle of the vessel. After nodding at his executive officer Vivian Evans, Bapyam took up his position at the head of the main holographic display, which was nothing more than a soothing array of simulated ripples at the moment. He asked, "What sorts of communication have we been able to establish? Can we get a simultaneous drop with the rest of the fleet?"

Feylar' Telcam looked up from his station at the comms suite and said, "Slipspace communication established with _Winter Huntsman_ and _To Slay Demons._ Should I reroute communication with the other admirals to the holotank?"

Bapyam waved the Sangheili off, saying, "No need. Audio is fine. I want as much of the ship's memory devoted to A.I. generation in order to relieve everyone from the backup stations. Speaking of which, how long will that take?"

Doctor Garrison shrugged before responding, "We don't have a proper medical lab, even if it is better than field dressings, and brain uploads take a while." He looked at the ceiling, as if estimating, before focusing on the rest of the table. "Three . . . four hours would be guess. Luckily, Miss Ophelia is going to be quite patient during the scan."

"Good. Get started on that," said Bapyam. The doctor scurried out, heading to the medical lab where the body of Ophelia Carlton lay in stasis, ready to be uploaded as the ship A.I. Really, it was unfortunate that the Covenant hadn't put much effort toward medicine, because it meant that only human brains and bodies were well enough understood to make A.I. and SPARTANs out of them. Bapyam understood that the seventy-five years since the end of the Covenant weren't enough to map that kind of thing properly, considering how long humans had taken to get that far, but it was still an annoyance. Dead humans with big brains were at a premium, what with the restructuring of the galaxy that was going on.

A cheerful voice on the intercom broke into Bapyam's thoughts. "Good morning, Admiral! I have Viper, Fox and Tiger Squadrons under my command. Admiral Losona has Gunslinger, Shadowwalker, and Rifleman Squadrons."

Bapyam cut in, saying, "And I've got Kingkiller, Omega, and Mendicant Squadrons. Synching command now." A series of beeps confirmed the approval of the sixty-odd captains in Bapyam's three squadrons. He continued, "We're ready to drop when the timer runs out. You?"

A pair of affirmatives from the other two admirals were the only things heard on _Manumitting God_'s bridge for the next minute as the admiral watched the timer now projected in the holotank count down. At zero, the slipspace wake generated by Admiral Losona and the $Winter Huntsman$, easily the fastest ship in the fleet, would run out as she dropped to the coordinates calculated before the trip. Then, the rest of the fleet would follow suit, transitioning to realspace all at once.

In the last seconds, the bridge crew sucked in a collective breath, and the room grew even quieter than before, if that was possible. Finally, Bapyam called out, "All ships, transition in five, four, three, two, one! Drop out of slipspace, now!" An officer pulled a lever, and a brilliant white light appeared in the inky nothing of slipstream space. To the casual observer, the rapid deceleration would have been jarring, but from the perspective of Bapyam's squadrons, the ships merely emerged from a long tunnel appearing in the fabric of time; a tunnel from which .2 Helens of world-crushing existential dread flowed, prepared to eliminate the Flood threat.

* * *

**A/N: Who (besides me) wanted "to go home and rethink [his] life?**


End file.
